Page 62

She sat, turning her teacup slowly between both hands, looking neither offended nor hurt, but genuinely puzzled, as though she feared she had somehow misunderstood the rules of being a Duchess.

Before he found the words to reassure her, Laurence spoke.

"Do not trouble yourself, Your Grace," he said kindly. "I can say, almost wholeheartedly, that the lack of callers has very little to do with you."

Eliza looked up.

"It doesn't?"

Laurence smiled. "I'm afraid our dear Duke has earned himself something of a reputation for his rather spectacular lack of hospitality. In fact, he has all but demanded I leave Winworth soon.”

He heard Eliza gasp. Arthur glanced up just in time to see genuine alarm spread across her face.

"You cannot leave, Laurence," she declared, sitting a little straighter in her chair. She lifted her chin with all the authority she could muster, though the smile threatening the corners of her mouth rather undermined the performance. "I command it... as the Duchess of Buckingham."

"Well." He inclined his head. "When put quite so persuasively, how could I possibly refuse the Duchess?"

Eliza laughed, clearly pleased with herself. Arthur, meanwhile, had the distinct sensation that the two of them had become allies.

Dangerous allies.

Laurence's grin widened ever so slightly with the expression of a man who had just discovered an entirely new avenue by which to torment his friend.

"Well then," Laurence said, turning towards Eliza, "if society refuses to come to the Duchess, I suppose we shall simply have to keep the Duchess occupied."

Arthur disliked that idea immediately.

"Would you care to join us in the study this afternoon?" Laurence continued. "Buck and I have estate correspondence to work through, so I'm afraid he cannot escort you to the village today..."

Arthur frowned.

"...but there is surely no reason the visit cannot wait until tomorrow."

Arthur set his newspaper down with a thud.

"I do not seem to recall," Arthur said with dangerous calm, "the moment I employed you, Lord Benedict Laurence, as my secretary."

Laurence reached lazily for another slice of toast, unfazed by the deployment of his full Christian name.

"Well, you are advancing in years at a rather alarming pace. Perhaps you've forgotten."

Arthur regarded him steadily.

"I am thirty," Arthur said.

"Precisely," Laurence retorted.

Arthur considered, not for the first time that morning, whether friendship constituted sufficient reason to overlook murder. His hand drifted almost absently towards the knife resting beside his plate.

When he looked up, Eliza was watching him.

Those absurdly large green eyes were fixed upon him with unmistakable hope, her teacup forgotten entirely as she waited for his answer. To anyone else it was merely an invitation to sit quietly in a study whilst two gentlemen worked through correspondence.

To her, it appeared to be the most exciting proposal imaginable, and so Arthur felt his resolve falter.

Laurence merely smiled. The insufferable bastard knew he had won.

Arthur let out a long, resigned breath.